


like ancient bruises

by bruised_fruit



Series: unhealed and rotting [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, Light ableism, Post-Canon, Reunion Sex, mostly vanilla, referenced hrt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruised_fruit/pseuds/bruised_fruit
Summary: Davenport puts his hand on her thigh. She doesn’t look. He gathers the fabric of her long skirt between his fingers, tugging gently, enough for her shirt to become untucked.“What do you want?” she whispers. She would do anything, give anything. It’s like she’s 33 and they’re a new couple and so, so in love again, except not at all.
Relationships: Davenport/The Director | Lucretia
Series: unhealed and rotting [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654714
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	like ancient bruises

**Author's Note:**

> title from "field below" by regina spektor
> 
> warning that this fic depicts trans ppl having piv sex. in barry and lup's bathroom during a family dinner... if that also warrants a warning

Lup puts a hand on Lucretia’s cheek. “Thanks for coming.” 

Lucretia shrinks, even now. She wouldn’t miss a family dinner, the opportunity to see them all and celebrate the anniversary of the day of Story and Song. And of Lup coming back. The family reuniting. Freeing them all from the Hunger. 

Losing Taako. Feeling their resentment, their disgust and disappointment. 

She thinks of color-leached grass, of skies like obsidian, of her staff, hot and heavier than ever when she cast the spell to shield herself from her family. Her captain, gripping the wheel so tightly his fingers discolored. The relief like nothing any of them had ever felt when they won.

And Davenport… Lucretia puts her hand over Lup’s. “Is he here already?” 

Lup’s expression softens. “You don’t have to worry, Lucy. Taako’ll be on his best behavior.” Lucretia bites her lip, and Lup looks to the side, hesitates. She knows what she was asking. “And Davenport— well, he doesn’t seem angry.” 

\--

And there he is, sitting between Barry and Merle. She barely notices Taako roll his eyes at her hesitance to pass through the doorway when she enters. She could pretend to be strong in front of them, but he would mock that too. 

Lup sits Lucretia down opposite Davenport, and he gives her a cool look. It’s her first time seeing him since he regained his memories. A whole year without him. He looks healthy. A little messier, though certainly not as messy as her. 

“Oh, um, hi, Captain.” Something passes over his face. Not displeasure, not exactly, but it’s enough to put her on guard. 

“Lucretia,” he says, his voice stiff. 

\--

She goes to the hallway for air, for silence. But Davenport follows, and he clears his throat from behind her. 

She squeaks, a paradigm of poise. When she turns to face him, there’s a smile tugging at his lips. 

“You’ve done a good job of avoiding me.” 

They hadn’t talked all evening, despite their proximity. She’d caught him watching her a couple times, but they both skirted actual conversation, actual interaction. 

Davenport puts his hand on her thigh. She doesn’t look. He gathers the fabric of her long skirt between his fingers, tugging gently, enough for her shirt to become untucked. 

“What do you want?” she whispers. She would do anything, give anything. It’s like she’s 33 and they’re a new couple and so, so in love again, except not at all. 

“I think it’s better if we don’t talk.” He opens a door, and pulls her into a cramped bathroom. He closes the door. He doesn’t face her. There’s barely enough room for the both of them, and when his hands go to his belt buckle, she feels stupid, a wave of anxiety rushing over her. She sits on the toilet lid and begins the painstaking process of unbuttoning her shirt. 

He turns to look at her. Just watches her struggle, her fingers slow and clumsy.

He kicks off his pants, tosses his shirt and sweater on the floor. His naked body is so beautiful, so familiar despite how much it has changed—a thicker layer of fat over his belly than during the century, more hair, a bit more muscle than she remembers. She glances up to meet his eyes, still fumbling with the buttons on her top. 

He didn’t have to undress like this. It’s like he’s showing her that he’s still whole, still healthy. Still hers, in a way. Somehow he still trusts her enough to show her his body. 

“Just keep your shirt on.” Lucretia frowns. She was halfway there, but even a teasing delay only ever just frustrated him. Though at one time, teasing him was half the fun. 

Not anymore. Never again, unless they both could somehow revert back to their younger, less scarred selves. 

So she’ll get to the point. She stands, and she slides out of her skirt and underwear. No reason for self-consciousness with him, even with her aged and battered body. 

He gives her an appreciative look, however removed. One of his hands goes to his stomach, slides lower to touch himself almost absently. He catches her staring, and he scowls. 

“On the sink,” he hisses, and she lifts him, her lips pressed together. His legs part, his hands on her shoulders, and she cups his vulva, hot and already slick. His hair is matted down, and she presses hard enough to feel the nub of his dick against her palm. The smallest noise comes out of him at her touch, and again at her palm leaving him.

“We’re not gonna talk at all?” she asks. “We’re just gonna-- we’re doing this?”

Davenport looks at her, impassive, and then he kisses her, his tongue clumsily sliding between her lips. It’s their first kiss in eleven years, and they have to break apart for air too soon. “I need this,” he growls. 

His lips meet hers again, and they pull apart, panting, and his hand goes to his cunt, two fingers pressing inside. He fingers himself roughly for not long enough, she wants to see more, she wants to hear more, and his hand goes back to behind her neck, slick fingers on her skin.

“In me,” he says quietly, and she flushes.

“It’s... not hard yet...” She strokes her clit, and he looks down, black eyes slitted as he watches. The stupid thing seems to take forever to stiffin, but for all his impatience, he doesn’t seem to mind.

She squeezes herself, rubbing the head over his slit. His hips cant upwards, and his eyes close. She missed this, just watching him blissed out at the barest of contact from her, totally focused on pleasure. 

A soft puff of air leaves his nose when she rubs over his dick, her clit dragging over his bare cunt just enough to remind her that he really is still hers. He hangs on to every movement, and his slick gathers over her until she lines herself up with his entrance, meeting his eyes only briefly. He blinks, anticipation and arousal not enough to move him to desperation. She’ll take whatever he’ll give her.

She presses inside him, watching his head tilt back, relishing the feeling of being inside him again. It’s a snug fit. Warm, so warm, and dripping wet even though he’s gotten back on T.

It’s been too long. His cunt is so familiar, so good.

Davenport squeezes his eyes shut, holding in a moan as she eases back out. “Zone of Silence,” he breathes, and she nods and casts it. He lets out a noise then, his pelvis shifting. “Fuck.” 

“Does it hurt?” she asks in a low, worried voice. He barely had any preparation, and he’s so _ small, _ and now of all times, they shouldn’t be rushing. 

“Just fuck me, Lucretia.” 

She leans over him, a hand braced on the sink and her other arm wrapped over his back. When she thrusts back in, he clings to her more tightly than ever, and he nuzzles her neck, kissing and licking the bare skin exposed by her loosened collar.

“Harder, please…”

She holds him closer, presses her body closer, adjusts to the feeling of him again. She used to be able to poke at his impatience, his neediness, but instead she obliges, pulling out slowly, thrusting back in. Rocking against him, inside him. 

His legs lock behind her, and he moans into her neck, rubbing his face against her skin. “My ears,” he whispers, and she knows what he’s asking, but she hesitates. Her hand on his back slides low, lower. “Please...” 

Lucretia’s hands go to his ears, wrapping around the thin flesh. She tugs, gently at first, then harder, harder, and he moans and whines at the stimuli. She fucks him more roughly, both of them caught up in sensation, his face still in her neck as she pulls at his ears.

He nips at her, not hard, and she pulls his ears one more time, a painful jerk that makes him moan and tremble. 

He’s close, she can tell. 

“Touch yourself, Andrew,” she pants. 

His hand goes to his dick, and as she rocks her hips, he rubs tight circles over himself, whimpering, his legs trembling, and when his orgasm hits him, it’s so beautiful, the way he tenses against her, groaning, then slackens, limp with only her arm to support him on the sink. 

She pulls back, but his legs tighten around her, and he pulls her close. “Finish in me, Lucy. Wanna-- wanna feel you...”

Her eyes squeeze shut, and she pushes back in. He moans, and his cunt pulses around her. 

There’s nothing, no one like him. Nothing ever compared to this. 

She only thrusts three, four more times, and she comes, pleasure and warmth washing over her, her legs buckling, Davenport’s hands on her back and his mouth on her neck, and when she’s done, he pulls back and looks up at her, his eyes shining. 

His hips shift when she pulls out, and he wipes his face. She tries not to look at the mess she made in him, the way everything just seeps out. 

“You didn’t want to see me?” 

“I did,” she breathes, sinking down to the floor, the afterglow already fading fast. “But, I couldn’t... Why did we do this? You were like a child. You were like _ my _child…”

He slides off of the sink, stands in front of her before sitting heavily on the toilet seat. She watches him clean himself up with toilet paper, his brow furrowed.

He tosses the wad of toilet paper and sits back down. “Fuck you,” he says quietly, and with not enough fury. 

She crawls to him, wrapping her arms around his legs and pressing her cheek to his knees. “Why did we do this?” she whispers. “How could you want me?”

He scoffs. “You’re still my wife. I’ll never stop loving you.” There’s a pause, and he adds, “And you should’ve talked to me.”

“You wouldn’t have listened… you wouldn’t have--” 

“You never gave me the chance, Lucretia.” Davenport stands, and he wavers slightly. She sighs, pressing closer. Things just fell apart at the end. After 92, really, but it only got worse during the war. Maybe she should have talked to him, but Lup should have talked to them before leaving to retrieve her relic, too. And he should have gathered them all together and told them that it wasn’t a victory, but then again, it was the best outcome any of them could have hoped for, and talking was pointless if you already knew how it would play out. She shifts back, her hands still firm on his legs. He cups her cheek, and there’s a tight frown on his face. “I know you… did it for me. I know you were trying to do the right thing. And you… you did an amazing thing.”

She bows her head, and his hand goes to her hair.

“Are you happy?” His voice is very quiet. “We won. The costs… could have been higher.”

She thinks of the postcards he sends her, imagines him on the open ocean, seeing the world the way he’d never gotten to before, knowing he saved it, and knowing this is home. Some semblance of joy, some semblance of peace. Without her. 

“You’re happy?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Lucretia looks up, and his hand slides to her cheek. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” She leans into him, and her knees are sore, but they stay like that for a long time, Davenport holding her, watching her, the bathroom floor beneath her hard yet somehow less solid than him.

“You should get dressed,” he says finally. He picks up his pants and his underwear, and he looks at her. “We don’t have to do this again.”

“I still love you, Drew. I… I still want you. Always.”

A pause. He blinks, looking at something just over her head. “...I know.” He pulls on his clothes and helps her stand, then gathers her clothing and hands it to her. “Do you need help?”

“No. Thank you.” She clutches the skirt to her chest, watching him busy himself buttoning his shirt back up. Faster and more precise than during the decade, and he’s almost businesslike about it, the way he always got dressed early in the century after a quick fuck in the engine room or the bathroom, as if they’d done something he was trying to run away from. 

But then he looks at her, and his eyes are soft and warm, and she doesn’t deserve a look like that. She slides on her skirt instead of looking at him, and he says, “I really do love you, Lucy.”

Her hand struggles with her zipper, and it seems to take a full minute before she moves on to her buttons. 

“I’d be happy to help with that.” 

She pauses. “Maybe you should head back to the dining room. A little less suspicious, you know…” 

One of his ears twitches, and he nods. His hand rests on her thigh on his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on twitter @ peach_softy for dav/lucretia scribbles if you're into that kind of content
> 
> thanks for reading :^)


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